Gunsmoke and Gold

by William W. Johnstone

  Louis looked at the bloody mess that was left of Chrisman and shook his head. “No Indian did this. Get him down to the doctor’s office.”

  The wagon rattled on. Louis waved to Jimmy, who was talking to a very pretty girl across the street. “Get Mayor Dale. Tell him to meet me at the doctor’s office.”

  Stepping into the office, he could see Doctor Lemmon working on the man. The doctor had not even taken the time to close the door. He met Louis’s eyes and shook his head. Louis stepped into the office and walked up to the bloody mess on the padded table.

  “Is he conscious?”

  “No,” Doc Lemmon said. “It’s amazing to me that he’s still alive. And he won’t be for long. Somebody with more pure viciousness in them than I thought possible did this. It’s . . . inhuman.”

  Dale rushed in and gasped at the sight of his friend. “My God!” he said. “Who . . . ?”

  “We don’t know,” the doctor said. “And we probably never will know.”

  “Put some salts under his nose,” Louis ordered. “Get him conscious.”

  “Now see here!” the doctor protested.

  “He’s dying anyway, isn’t he?” Louis’ words were sharply spoken. “We’ve got to find out who did this to him so it won’t be repeated. Now get him conscious.”

  When Chrisman was as conscious as he would ever be, he spoke with a labored whisper through his intense pain. “It was Robert Harris and . . . Denise Raner . . . and Hubby Vernon.” He pushed a smile past bloody lips. They had smashed out all his teeth and gouged out his eyes. And that was only for starters. “I . . . didn’t tell them anything, Dale. I . . . held on. I will take our . . . secret to . . . the grave.” His head lolled to one side and he took one last rattling breath.

  “Robert and Denise?” the doctor said. “But . . . they’re dead!”

  “Obviously, they are not,” Louis said. “Jimmy, dispatch a rider out to find Jack and the others. Tell them of this new development. Move, lad.” He fixed his hard eyes on Dale. “What secret, Dale?”

  “I . . . don’t know,” the man lied.

  “You’re lying. But that’s all right.” Louis’s smile was tight and hard. “Just remember what Chrisman said. He didn’t tell them. So that means they’ll be coming after you.”

  “I demand protection!” Dale hollered.

  “Forget it,” Louis replied. “I’m not going to ask someone to protect you without even knowing the reason why.”

  “You’re a hard, cold, cruel man, Mister Longmont,” the mayor said. He was so frightened he could hardly stand.

  “Run along, Mayor,” Louis told him. “And be sure to lock your door tonight. There are boogeymen among us.”

  The mayor scurried from the office, flapping his hands and squealing like a pig.

  “He’s right, you know,” Doc Lemmon said to the millionaire adventurer. “You are a hard, cold man.”

  Louis smiled. But it did not touch his eyes. He said, “This man,” pointing to the bloody mess that was Chrisman, “and that man,” he pointed toward the open front door that Dale had just used, “are probably the reasons behind this range war and the hotel fire. They are responsible for how many needless and brutal deaths in this area over the past months?”

  The doctor shook his head. “Too many.”

  “Precisely,” Louis Longmont said, and walked out the door. Back on the street, he gathered a crowd of men around him and deputized them all en masse.

  “I don’t know what is going to happen next,” he told them. “I’m not a soothsayer. But I am a wagering man. And I am betting that both this town and Pete Harris’s Box H ranch are going to get hit and hit hard sometime within the next twenty-four hours. So let’s get ready for it, shall we?” As he was speaking, Mayor Dale was leaving town in his buggy, whipping the matched team into a run. Louis smiled. He was heading for the crossroads, and Louis doubted he was going to take the fork toward the Box H.

  * * *

  “You stay here,” Jack told the young rider from town. “These people are going to need all the guns they can use. Matt, Sam, you boys stay here. Me and Charlie will head on back to town. This here pot’s just about to come to a boil.”

  * * *

  “What are you sayin’, man?” Hugo Raner grabbed Dale and shook him. “My Denise is alive?”

  “Yes. She and Robert and Hubby tortured Chrisman to death, trying to get him to divulge something. I don’t know what in the world it could have been. The three of them are mad, I tell you, mad!”

  Hugo knocked the man to the floor with a big fist. He stood over him. “Now you tell me the truth, Dale. What in the hell is goin’ on around here?”

  Dale lay on his back and sobbed like a baby, both hands covering his bloody mouth. “Hugo, my God, man, I don’t know! Why did you strike me? I came straight to you with this news. Why hit me? It’s Pete Harris who is your enemy. Not me.”

  “All right, all right.” Hugo hauled the man to his feet and dumped him into a chair. “Stay here and stay out of sight.” He paused. “Blake and Lane . . . dead. Frisco dead. Denise and Robert alive and runnin’ wild like crazy people. Hubby with them. What the hell does it all mean?” He asked the question as much to himself as to anyone else in the room. “None of this makes any sense.”

  “Don’t you understand?” Dale almost shouted the words, thinking hard and fast. “We’re alone in this, Hugo. Chrisman was in on it from the first. He and Robert and Denise and Pete Harris.”

  “Pete! What the hell are you talking about, you fool? Pete damn near killed his boy.”

  “Did anybody see it?”

  “Doc Lemmon saw it.”

  “You don’t think the young doctor could be bought?”

  “Maybe he’s right, Pa,” Carl said. “Doc Lemmon’s out there sparkin’ Millie as often as he can. He’d go along with something like Mister Dale’s talkin’ about.”

  Hugo looked at Dale, dabbing at his mouth with a handkerchief. “Give me a motive.”

  Dale took a big gamble. “Gold,” he said softly.

  “Gold?” Hugo whispered. “On my spread?”

  “Sure,” Dale said. “Why do you think Pete backed all those nesters buyin’ sections of your land?”

  “He did?” Hugo asked.

  “It certainly wasn’t me or Blake. Who else could it have been?” Dale was really getting into the lie now. He was beginning to believe it himself.

  “Now wait a minute, just wait a minute. I’m so damn confused my head hurts.” The rancher poured himself a whiskey and sat down on the couch. He was silent for a moment. Then he looked at Dale. “You’re a damn liar, Dale. I been believin’ your lies all along. It’s you and Chrisman that started all this trouble. Not the farmers, not the sheepmen, but you and Chrisman. And Robert and Denise was in on it too.” He stopped at the sound of a Colt’s hammer being jacked back. Father looked at son. “Oh, no, boy. Not you, too.”

  “Sorry, Pa,” Carl said. “You should have taken the bait.”

  “My crew will tear you apart, Carl. You goddamn traitor.”

  Carl laughed. “Your crew, Pa? You ain’t got no crew. You’ve surrounded yourself with hired guns, not punchers. I bought them off right after the raid out here.”

  “You don’t have no money, boy,” the father told the son.

  “But I got gold, Pa. Denise told me all about it. This ranch is sittin’ on tons and tons of gold. The hands was easy bought off with just the promise of that.”

  “You stinkin’, sorry little pup!”

  Carl shot him. Hugo lifted up and then fell backward, tipping the couch over when he did. Carl filled up his empty. “Couple of the boys will stay here with you, Dale. When I get back from burnin’ out Pete, then you and me will have a talk. And you’ll tell me where the vein is, won’t you?”

  “Oh, we’ll work something out, Carl. You bet we will!” the banker said, sweat dripping from his face.

  “I know we will,” the young man said. He walked out the door, yelling for the
hands.

  Dale put his head in his hands. “Dear God,” he whispered. “How did it get out of control?”

  Two big, rough-looking guns-for-hire entered the room just as the hooves of forty horses thundered out. One of the men smiled at Dale. “Carl says we’re to look after you, Dale. Then when he gets back, we’re all gonna be rich.”

  “I doubt it,” Hugo said, and shot both men. Dale scrambled out of the room on his hands and knees, the couch preventing Hugo from getting a clear shot at the man.

  Hugo crawled to his boots. He was hit and hit hard. But he wasn’t going to die before he did one more thing. Dale forgotten, Hugo staggered out of the gunsmoke-filled room and fell off the front porch. He crawled to his horse and managed to get into the saddle. “Let’s go, feller,” he said. “You got to get me to Pete’s spread.”

  Dale found a rifle and a box of shells. His hands were shaking so badly he spilled half the box loading up the rifle. He shoved a pistol behind his belt. Only then was he aware of one of the gunhands looking at him.

  “Help me,” the man begged him. “I’m gut-shot and Lord, it hurts.”

  “Shut up, you vile, disgusting person,” Dale told him, and rushed out the back door.

  The gunslick had enough strength to lift and cock a pistol and pull the trigger. But the shot went wide, missing Dale. He fell back on the floor with a curse and began the slow and painful process of dying.

  Dale left his tired team and saddled a horse. He cut across country, heading back to town. He’d be safe there. He had never been so frightened in all his life. He had gone only a few miles when he became aware that somebody was following him. He looked behind him. Three riders. And one was a small person. He was sure it was that horrible vicious Denise, Robert, and that nutty Hubby. He put his shoes to the flanks of the horse and took off at a gallop.

  His horse was tired and faltering badly when he came up on a nester’s place. He wasn’t sure who lived there. But they’d take him in. He was sure of that.

  “Rider comin’, Pa,” Jake Reed said.

  “That’s a Lightnin’ hoss,” Joe said. “I seen it a lot of times.”

  “And they’s three more right behind him,” John said.

  “Jesse,” Reed said. “Blow him out of the saddle. They’re on our land.”

  Jesse lifted his Springfield and sighted in. He pulled the trigger. Dale went flying out of the saddle, the front of his white shirt stained with blood. He hit the ground, bounced once, and then was still. His horse loped on for a few yards, then stopped to rest. The three riders behind Dale reined up, turned around, and galloped off.

  “That’ll teach ’em, by God,” Reed said.

  Dale lay on his back on the earth and looked up at the sky. He was very cold, but he felt no pain. All in all, he thought, it was a grand plan. And it would have worked out just fine, if only . . .

  * * *

  Robert Harris, Denise Raner, and Hubby Vernon rode back to the Lightning spread and found it deserted.

  “Two dead gunhands in here,” Robert called from the porch. “And there’s blood all over the couch.”

  Denise went into her study and worked the combination to the big safe. She dragged out all the greenbacks and took the several leather pouches of gold.

  “What are you doing?” Robert asked.

  “It’s over,” she told him. “Only Chrisman and Dale knew where the gold and silver was. They’re dead. That was a .45 Springfield that took Dale out. He’s sure dead. We got to have some runnin’ money.”

  “I ain’t runnin’ nowheres, and neither are none of you,” Hubby said, and lifted his rifle, aiming at the back of Denise’s head. Robert slapped it away and laid his fist against Hubby’s jaw, knocking him to the floor. Robert kicked the young man in the head, putting him out.

  “Let’s go,” Denise said.

  “Wait a minute,” Robert said. “Denise, it’s a fair bet that your dad and Carl went to raid the Box H. If they get killed, this spread belongs to you. We’ve done nothing wrong. There are no charges against either of us. We’d be free to look for the gold then.”

  Denise thought about that. “Yeah. You’re right.” She smiled and lifted the sackful of money. “But I’ll just hold onto this in case.”

  Robert and Denise saddled fresh horses and pulled out, leaving Hubby groaning on the floor. Hubby pulled himself to his knees, felt the knot on his head where Robert had kicked him, and got to his boots. He staggered around until he got his bearings and then stripped the dead gunhands of their pistols and gunbelts. He found his rifle and saddled a fresh horse, hanging the gunbelts from the saddlehorn. He studied the ground for a moment, riding in circles, until he found the tracks of two riders. He rode after Robert and Denise. He wasn’t sure what he would do when he caught up with them. But he had a pretty good idea.

  * * *

  One of the Lightning hands—actually a plant from Red Raley’s gang—didn’t believe Carl Raner’s story about gold. He didn’t go on the raid. In the confusion, he slipped away and headed straight for Red’s hideout, not very many miles from the ranch.

  Red had to think on this for a moment. It was confusing to him. Hugo and Blake were dead. He’d heard from his man in town that Chrisman was dead. And Dale was held captive at the ranch. So who the hell was left to pay Red and his boys?

  “Nobody,” he said. “Saddle up, boys,” he gave the orders. “We’ll just ride to the ranch and take Dale ourselves. We’ll torture the information from him.”

  They found the dead gunhands on the floor, and the door to the safe was open, the safe empty of funds. Dale was nowhere in sight.

  “Now what do we do?” Chavez asked.

  “I don’t know,” Red admitted. “Shut up. I got to think.”

  He sat down by the bullet-scarred dinner table and poured him a whiskey. He began to smile. He had him a plan. A good one, he figured.

  * * *

  Reed and his boys tied Mayor Dale across his saddle and went to town, dropping off Mrs. Reed at a neighbor’s house. It was late afternoon when they arrived.

  “He was ridin’ a Lightning horse with three other hands when he come a-foggin’ acrost our land,” Reed told Jack Linwood. “If they’s penalties to be paid, I reckon we’ll just have to pay them.”

  Jack shook his head. “No. No charges, Reed. Dale was in some sort of plot with Chrisman, and Chrisman’s dead.”

  “Dead?” the head of the Reed clan said. “How’d that happen?”

  Louis explained briefly.

  “Pa,” Jake said. “I bet you that was Robert and Denise and Hubby ridin’ with Dale. I don’t know no little-bitty puncher around here.”

  “You’re probably right,” Jack said. “Is your wife safe, Reed?”

  “Oh, yeah. You want us to stay here in town with our rifles?”

  “I’d be obliged.”

  “We’ll sure do ’er.”

  * * *

  “Here they come!” Shorty yelled from the loft of the Box H barn. “And there’s a wad of ’em.”

  “Who’s leadin’ the pack?” Pete yelled.

  “Looks like Carl from here,” Shorty shouted, after peering through field glasses, trying to penetrate the murk of dusk.

  Pete earred back the hammer on his Winchester as the thunder of hooves grew louder. “All right, people. Let’s settle this once and for all.”

  Twenty-five

  Stalemate.

  Those entrenched on the Box H spread could not get out, but neither could Carl Raner and his bunch of no-counts get inside the compound.

  The battle had raged all through the night. The bodies of four Lightning Arrow men lay in the dirt. No one on the Box H side had taken even a scratch. The men of the Box H had had the time to carefully prepare their positions and they had plenty of food and water and ammo. They were outnumbered three or four to one, but held the high ground, so to speak. And they weren’t about to give it up.

  Hugo Raner was less than a mile away, sitting on the ground, trying to
regain strength enough to get in the saddle. He was in a world of pain and fever when he staggered to his boots and gripped the saddlehorn with both hands. He slowly pulled himself into the saddle.

  “Let’s go, boy,” he said to his weary horse.

  “I don’t think so, Pa,” Denise spoke from behind him.

  Hugo turned his horse and faced his daughter, Robert standing beside her. “Looked like I sired a pack of cowardly hyenas,” he told her. He faced her rifle without fear. He was dead and knew it and wasn’t afraid of it. “Me and Blake and Pete. But at least they each had one apiece that turned out decent. You want to tell me the whole story before you shoot me, girl?”

  “No,” she said, and pulled the trigger.

  Hugo felt the shock of the .44. He cursed his daughter and managed to stay in the saddle and pull his pistol from leather. Robert smiled cruelly and ended Hugo Raner’s struggle. He shot the big bear of a man in the face with a .45. Hugo tumbled from the saddle.

  “Now what?” Robert asked.

  “We wait to see if Brother Carl comes back here to see what the shooting was about. Then we kill him,” she said in a cold voice. “Once that’s done, we’re home free, baby. Let’s get off this trail and into the timber.”

  “See what that shootin’s all about back yonder,” Carl told a hand.

  The hand reported back. “Your pa. Somebody shot him twice. He’s dead.”

  “Denise,” Carl said without no hesitation. “And she and Robert will be after me next. With me out of the way, she’s home free with everything. Find her and kill her,” he ordered. “Take some men with you and kill her!”

  But this hand had had enough of deceit and treachery. He nodded at three men he’d buddied with long enough to know they wanted no more of this. The four of them swung into the saddle and headed out. “Where are we goin’?” a gun-for-hire asked.

  “I don’t know,” the ex-Lightning Arrow hand said. “But I figure to put some distance between us and them crazy people back yonder.”

  “Suits me.”

  “This ain’t gettin’ us nowhere,” Rusty said to Carl. “We couldn’t dig them people out over yonder with dynamite. And we can’t get close enough to do no good. Too much cleared land around the buildings.”